The Josh and Kat Trilogy: A Bundle of Books 1-3 Read online

  “Hard or easy six?” Hawaiian Shirt Guy asks Sarah, clearly hanging on her every word.

  “Easy,” she answers.

  Jonas nibbles her neck and pulls her hips into him forcefully. Jesus. Who the fuck is my brother right now? I’ve never seen him act like this with a woman, ever. He’s acting like... me.

  “Oh my,” Sarah says, laughing. “Easy six... and hard... Jonas.”

  Jonas bursts out laughing.

  Kat and I look at each other, grimacing.

  “I don’t know whether to swoon or barf,” Kat whispers to me and I chuckle.

  “I’m definitely leaning toward ‘barf,’” I reply.

  “Easy six,” Hawaiian Shirt Guy yells to the dealer, jumping on the Sarah-train.

  “Me, too,” I say, throwing a couple orange chips onto the table. “And for the lady, too,” I add, throwing a thousand-dollar chip to the dealer for Kat.

  “Josh, no. You already gave me plenty of gambling money. I’ll use the money you gave me.”

  “Nah, put that away, PG. I’ve got a feeling—trust me.”

  In a sudden flurry, every other guy at the table follows suit, throwing their chips onto six, all of them betting on Sarah’s intuition.

  Kat picks up the dice. “Jeez, talk about pressure,” she mutters. She tosses the dice onto the table.

  Easy eight.

  Everyone at the table cheers. It’s not a six, true, but it’s not crapping out, either, which means we’re all still alive.

  The dealer quickly distributes winnings on the roll.

  “Bets?” the dealer invites.

  “Yeah, add this to my six,” I say to the dealer, tossing yet another pumpkin to him. “Plus another one for the lady,” I say, tossing yet another orange thousand-dollar chip onto the table.

  Kat looks at me with wide eyes. “No, Josh. Stop. No more.”

  I wink. “Humor me,” I say. “I have a feeling.”

  Kat presses her lips together, but she doesn’t argue. She holds the dice out to Sarah.

  “Vaya con dios,” Sarah says with solemnity. She blows on them.

  “Come on, Blondie,” Hawaiian Shirt Guy says. “Roll us a six.”

  Kat rolls. Five. Everyone at the table cheers. We’re still alive.

  “Add this to the lady’s bet on the six,” I say, throwing the dealer another orange. “And put this on mine.” I throw him three more orange chips.

  Kat takes a deep breath, blows on the dice, and rolls again. Jackpot.

  The entire table erupts. Kat and Sarah leap into each other’s arms, jumping up and down, while Jonas and I look on, laughing hysterically and shaking our heads.

  When Kat disengages from Sarah, she sees the mammoth stack of chips headed her way from the dealer. “Oh my effing God,” she says, her face suddenly turning to ash. She scoops up her winnings with shaking hands, suddenly looking like she’s gonna puke. “I’ve gotta stop rolling now,” she says, her voice tight. “That’s it for me.”

  “You can’t stop,” I say. “Your roll’s not finished.”

  “I can’t... I’ve gotta stop. I can’t gamble anymore. Oh my God.”

  “Good call, Kitty Kat,” Sarah says. “Quit while you’re ahead. Speaking of which.” She turns around, puts her arms around Jonas’ neck for the millionth time tonight, and whispers something into his ear.

  Jonas’ entire body jolts. He abruptly pushes all his chips over to Kat’s already mammoth stack, grabs Sarah’s hand, and yanks her away from the table like he’s pulling a blowup doll. “See you guys later,” he calls out over his shoulder.

  “See you, bro,” I shout. “Have fun.”

  And just like that, the lovebirds disappear into the crowded casino.

  “Wait, Jonas!” Kat yells. “Your chips!” But he’s long gone. “Jonas gave me his chips,” Kat says, her eyes wide. “Oh my God. He gave me his chips.”

  “Because he wanted you to have them.”

  “But that’s got to be—” She does a cursory count of the chips in front of her. “Holy shitballs! Almost fifteen thousand bucks! Plus what I won on that last roll, thanks to your extra bets—oh my effing God. I’ve got like twenty thousand bucks here, Josh.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “But . . .”

  “Kat, whatever Sarah said to Jonas to make him shove those chips at you was obviously far more enticing to him than any amount of money.”

  Kat’s mouth is hanging open. Obviously, this is a life-changing amount of money for the girl.

  “Take it, Kat. You just made everyone at this table a crapload of money, including me. That’s how Vegas works, baby. You earned it.”

  The dealer shoves the dice at Kat. “Still your roll, miss,” he says.

  She shakes her head. “You roll for a while, Josh. I’ll just watch.” She plops a tall stack of orange chips in front of me on the ledge of the table.

  “What’s this?” I ask.

  “The money you gave me to gamble with at the beginning, plus the oranges you just threw onto the six for me.”

  “Come on, Blondie. It’s still your roll,” Hawaiian Shirt Guy says, clearly getting annoyed.

  “Josh, I can’t.” She looks at me for help, her face tight.

  “She’s done,” I say forcefully—even though I know it’s unthinkable for a hot roller to quit mid-roll. Hawaiian Shirt Guy starts protesting, but I glare at him, making him shut his fucking mouth. I tip the dealers a thousand each and scoop up my chips. “Come on, Blondie,” I say, staring down Hawaiian Shirt Guy. “Let’s go celebrate our good fortune.”

  We begin walking toward the cashier, our hands overflowing with our bounty.

  “I can’t keep all this,” Kat says. “This is an insane amount of money.”

  “Don’t overthink it.”

  She holds out her chips. “Really, I can’t. Take it before I give in to temptation.”

  I tilt my head at her. “You got a car payment?” I ask.

  She nods.

  “Will this pay off the loan?”

  She snorts. “And then some.”

  “Then that settles it. It would be fiscally irresponsible for you not to accept this money. Don’t be fiscally irresponsible, Kat.”

  She looks unsure.

  I chuckle. “Seriously, Kat. That’s chump change to Jonas, and you just made me a ton of money. See?” I hold out my chips to prove it. “I’m rich!”

  She purses her lips. “Well... are you gonna expect something in return?”

  “Nope. No strings attached.”

  Surprisingly, her face flashes with disappointment, not relief.

  Interesting.

  “Although, of course,” I quickly add, “I do expect to get something from you tonight—something that’s gonna be so fucking awesome, you’re gonna thank me profusely and beg me to do it again and again. But you’re gonna give it to me because you wanna do it so fucking bad, it hurts—not because you’re paying me back for a few stupid gambling chips.”

  Twelve

  Kat

  “Whatcha drinking?” Josh asks me when the bartender approaches us for our order.

  “A dirty martini. Grey goose. Two olives,” I say.

  “I like your style, Kat.” He smiles at the bartender. “Make it two—plus two shots of Gran Patron, please.”

  When the bartender leaves, Josh turns a heated gaze on me. “Jesus, Kat. You’re so fucking beautiful, you’re causing me pain.”

  “Wow. Thank you. You’re so fucking beautiful, you’re pissing me off.”

  He laughs. “You’re so fucking beautiful, you make me wanna punch a wall.”

  “Well, you’re so fucking beautiful, you make me wanna hurl all over you.”

  “Wow. Really?”

  “Yup.”

  “Damn. I must be really fucking beautiful.”

  “Or I’ve got a particularly weak stomach,” I say. “Which, actually, I do.”

  He pauses briefly. “You really are fucking beautiful, Kat.” He reaches out, sl
owly, like he’s not sure if I’m gonna stop him or not, and gently touches the tip of his finger to my chin.

  I close my eyes. “Holy Who-Knew-a Chin-Could-Be-an-Erogenous-Zone, Batman,” I say.

  One side of his mouth hitches up. “I’ve wanted to touch this little cleft in your chin since the minute I first laid eyes on you,” he says, his voice low and intense.

  I take a deep breath. My flesh feels hot under his fingertip.

  His hand migrates to my cheek. He pulls me toward him.

  I stiffen, halting my forward progress. “What’d you ask for in your application, Josh?” I whisper.

  He leans back sharply. “Seriously?”

  I nod.

  “Fuck. You’re the most stubborn woman in the entire fucking world.”

  I shrug. “I warned you. I only get more determined.”

  The bartender puts our drinks in front of us and Josh raises his shot glass.

  “To you, Kat. May you soon realize the folly of your ways and stop being so fucking stubborn.”

  “Thank you, Josh. And to you, as well.” I raise my glass. “May you soon realize I never back down so you might as well give me what I want now so we can move quickly to the inevitable conclusion of this ridiculous showdown.”

  We clink our shots and down them.

  “You don’t really give a shit what’s in my application, do you?” he asks. “You just wanna win.”

  “Sure, I care. I’m absolutely dying to know. And now that you’re being so secretive about it, I wanna know even more.” I wag my finger at him. “You should have used reverse psychology on me, Josh. I might have dropped the whole thing if you hadn’t been so freaking weird about it.”

  He scowls. “I’m not being weird about it. It’s just... not relevant.”

  I exhale. “What if sleeping with you means waking up in a dog collar, chained to a donkey? That seems like something I should know.”

  A wide grin spreads across his face.

  “Why are you smiling like that?”

  “Because you just tacitly admitted you want to sleep with me. Otherwise you wouldn’t care if I like donkeys and dog collars.”

  I scowl at him. “Okay, how about this? I don’t need to see the actual application. Just tell me verbally what you said in it. That’s my final offer.”

  “Oh, that’s your ‘final offer,’ huh? You think you’re running this negotiation?” He takes a long sip of his drink. “Nope. I don’t negotiate with terrorists. Ever.”

  I throw up my hands. “You’re really frustrating, you know that? The harder you fight me on it, the more I wanna know.”

  “And you gotta know before you’ll even kiss me now? Not just before you fuck me?”

  “Correct. The stakes have officially risen.”

  He exhales with exasperation. “Lame. Just one kiss, Kat. You don’t need an application to give me a simple kiss.”

  “It won’t be a simple kiss.”

  “It won’t be a simple kiss,” he concedes, nodding. “That’s true. Because after one kiss, you’re gonna wanna fuck me.” He grins. “You won’t be able to control yourself.”

  I roll my eyes, though he’s undoubtedly right: if I kiss this man, it’s gonna take a grand total of forty-three seconds before I jump his bones. I know it as surely as I know my own name.

  “Your demand is patently unfair, you know,” he continues. “Because you don’t have an application to give to me. You’re asking me to bare my perverted soul to you without getting anything in return. Sex doesn’t count because you want it as much as I do.”

  “Fine, then. I’ll lay my perverted soul bare to you, too. I’ve got nothing to hide. Ask me anything you want—right here and now.”

  He motions to the bartender. “Another couple shots, please. Gran Patron. Limes. Thanks.”

  “I’m serious,” I say. “I’ll show you how truth and honesty works. Let ’er rip.”

  “Okay.” He sits back, assessing me with smoldering eyes. “Admit you’re soaking your panties for me right now.”

  I shift in my seat. “No.”

  “No, you won’t admit it—or no, you’re not soaking your panties for me?”

  “No, I’m not soaking my panties for you.”

  “Bullshit. It’s written all over your face. You’re soaking them clean through.” He rolls his eyes. “I thought you were gonna model truth and honesty for me. Ha! You’re so full of shit.” He swigs the last of his drink.

  I lean forward and grin. “I’m not full of shit. I’m telling the God’s truth. I’m not soaking my panties for you—because I’m not wearing any panties.”

  Thirteen

  Josh

  Oh fuck. She’s the devil.

  My dick is doing fucking jumping jacks in my pants.

  I can’t breathe.

  What the fuck is wrong with this woman? Is she insane? Her dress is barely longer than a fucking T-shirt. Is she trying to give the entire world an unimpeded peek at her pussy? All of a sudden, I can’t remove my eyes from her crotch or stop imagining what’s hiding just beyond the sequined hem of her itty-bitty dress.

  She re-crosses her toned, bare thighs and flips her blonde hair, and I tear my eyes away from her lap.

  “Do you always go commando?” I ask. But then I roll my eyes at myself. That’s my lame response? Who the fuck am I right now—Jonas?

  “No,” she says, laughing. “I typically wear underpants. A teeny-tiny G-string, to be exact.” She blows me a kiss and winks.

  Oh, she’s a fucking sadist.

  “That’s what I was wearing tonight, actually—a teeny, tiny, black lace G-string—mmmm—but I took it off in the bathroom right before we sat down at the bar.” She opens her beaded clutch purse and pulls out a tiny black swatch of lace. “Looks like you’re not the only one who likes a little excitement, Playboy.” She winks again.

  Holy fuck. My pulse is suddenly pounding in my ears. I lean forward, right into her gorgeous face.

  “Goddammit, Kat. That’s it.” I pull out my credit card and throw it onto the bar. “This bullshit competition is over. Get up. I’m taking you upstairs right now.”

  She laughs and doesn’t move a muscle. “Great. Can’t wait to read your application before we get started.”

  “Kat. No.”

  “I’ve told you my terms, Playboy—and I’m prepared to do anything I have to do to get what I want.” She whirls her undies around on her finger. “Anything at all.”

  I exhale, exasperated. “Dude, you’re a freaking suicide bomber, you know that? You want me as much as I want you—but you’re willing to blow yourself to smithereens in order to win.”

  She re-crosses her legs, yet again. “Gosh, is it breezy in here? Wow. It feels kinda breezy in here.” She mock-shivers and lets out a sexy growl. “God, I wish I had an application to a sex club to keep me warm right now. Brr.”

  “You’re evil,” I say, my voice low and intense. “Pure fucking evil. You’re a fucking jihadist.”

  She smiles broadly. “Oh, I like that word. I am.” She laughs. “Oh, God. I really am.”

  My cock is throbbing. “Half the fun of being with someone new is not knowing what you’re getting yourself into in advance. Maybe you wake up chained to a donkey; maybe you don’t. It’s like opening a present on Christmas. You don’t get to ask, ‘What’s in the box?’ before you rip into it—you just rip into it, baby.”

  She shrugs and re-crosses her legs, yet again. “Interesting theory. Let’s agree to disagree.”

  “I feel like you’re licking my balls and punching them at the same time,” I say.

  She bursts out laughing. “Oh my God. You’re hilarious.”

  “And you’re demonic.”

  “I am. I really am.”

  “Obviously.”

  She shrugs. “Sorry. I can’t help it. It’s the way I am. I have four brothers. You show weakness with four brothers, you’re dead.”

  “You have four brothers?”

  She nods. “You’
d be shocked what I’ve had to do to survive and thrive in a house with four guys. Holding off on kissing you ’til I get my way, even though all I wanna do right now is kiss the hell out of you—including sucking on that delectable lower lip of yours, by the way, mmm, that’s a sexy lower lip—is freaking child’s play. So give up now because I will get what I want. Just ask my brothers. I always win.”

  I’m rendered speechless for a moment. “Well, joke’s on you because I also grew up with four brothers,” I finally manage to say. “All of them contained in the sole person of Jonas Faraday. You’d be shocked what I’ve had to do to survive and thrive in a house with a brother with four personalities. Holding off on kissing you ’til I get my way, even though all I wanna do right now is kiss the hell out of you—including biting that goddamned lower lip of yours and doing unmentionable things to that goddamned cleft in your chin—is freaking child’s play.”

  She parts her lips but doesn’t speak.

  “Do I give off a Jeffrey Dahmer vibe or something?” I ask, leaning forward into her personal space.

  “Not at all.” She leans back and sips her drink. “Maybe that’s why I’m so damned curious. Your seeming normalcy makes me wonder even more why a guy like you felt the need to join a sex club.”

  “I didn’t need to join a sex club—any more than I need to go to Tahiti or Monaco.”

  “Or Disneyland,” she adds, snickering.

  I roll my eyes. “Or Disneyland. Correct. Joining The Club was a vacation.” I sip my drink calmly. “Which means it’s soundly in the realm of ‘none of your fucking business.’ I don’t owe you a play-by-play of my vacations. And, news flash, I’m not gonna let you run my credit report or call my ex-girlfriends, either.”

  She takes another long sip of her drink. “Oh, that’s a great idea about calling your ex-girlfriends, Playboy. I didn’t think of that. You can email me their contact information along with your application.”

  I smirk. “You do realize, in theory, you could wake up gagged and chained to a donkey after fucking any guy, right? The fact that I joined The Club doesn’t make me any more or less of a pervert-weirdo-serial-killer-donkey-fucker than the average guy.”